My Strangest Case as an FBI Agent The missing people in Utah
I used to work for the federal bureau of investigation, and I remember one particularly disturbing series of disappearances that happened in Utah in 1960–1965. We were sent to investigate after a great number of local villages started reporting an increase in disappearances. The targets were equally males and females and their age ranged anywhere from 5 to 86. There didn’t seem to be a particular pattern to them, nor a modus operandi. It was like these people just vanished into thin air. Now, mind you, we knew such a thing was impossible, but even with the help of the local police and many searches and rescues, we couldn’t find a single body. No bones, nothing. A few corpses were found, but none of which were related to this investigation. We did try to find a link between the bodies and the disappearances, but nothing stuck. Another problem is that we didn’t even know if all these disappearances were linked to one another. After all, a few of the missing teens could be eloping, seniors with Alzheimer’s might have gotten lost, and a few unfaithful husbands and wives changing country with a new, exotic lover wouldn’t really be surprising either. What made this case so bizarre was that even when accounting those possibilities, there was still an impressive number of unexplained disappearances. The guys at work had a blast coming up with conspiracy theories. At some point, I think some of us even forgot that humans were involved. We even had a “TOW”; a theory of the week contest because we couldn’t find any clues. We spent money deploying a couple of helicopters to survey the mountainsides but we couldn’t find anything. That’s when someone in our group suggested we started to investigate abandoned establishments. We had been asking left and right and nobody came up with anything. Unfortunately, even if the places were abandoned, they were still government properties, or someone else properties. Getting all the necessary papers in order could take some time. It was easier done with the government, so we investigated abandoned buildings relatively easy. Found a few more bodies, but only one related to the disappearances. A teen girl who died of a heroin overdose in an abandoned school, a local spot well known by junkies. If someone found her, they never said and they left her there to rot. Otherwise, still nothing for our investigation. Once we were done with the exploration of government-owned lands, we moved to private properties that had been left to abandon. We contacted a few, met with others, and got most of them to agree with our search-and-rescue operation. Though, considering how a majority of those disappearances were getting a few months old, we were not very convinced about the whole rescue part of the operation. However, a few people refused and for us to be able to get on their lands, we needed a warrant. Most of these were abandoned farms and God knows there are a lot of those in Utah. Unfortunately, to get a warrant, we needed a probable cause, a suspicion that something illicit or that would put the lives of others at stake was happening on those lands. Which is when I, as well as a few of my colleagues, was sent to the most annoyingly boring state. Jam-packed with Mormons, this state is probably one of the worst places to grow up in. Would I be a teen, I, too would try to runaway from this place. I kissed my wife goodbye and said I was hoping this would be resolved soon, because the last thing I wanted was to spend more time than I needed in the state. Especially in the middle of summer like this. The only good thing is that I was staying at a luxury hotel, all meals included. It would almost be vacations if it wasn’t in Utah. I was tasked with the abandoned farm, aptly named “Lost Wood Orchard”. It apparently used to be a berry farm, or something like that. I only brushed over the folder on the orchard because I wasn’t very interested in its story. It was rather average. A man had several children, all of whom moved to the city. His wife died and so did he a few years later and the kids put the land for sale but no buyers ever bit. The price was too high, there were too many lands and while this place had potential, people were saying it was cursed. Locals avoided it like the plague. They said this place reeked of death. When I visited the orchard the first time, I didn’t really feel anything. It was just land, with an abandoned coquettish house at the front. The grass was tall and high from years of growing freely and behind, I could see nothing else but green grass stretching for miles. I don’t think I’d ever seen grass grow that high, or that green. There was something … peculiar about the smell though. It smelled like freshly cut grass and fresh soil, even though this placed looked like it hadn’t been taken care of for over a decade. Grass had grown past the balcony ramps and reached to the lowest windows. If there was a basement, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t look scary to me, then again, as a boy who grew up in town, I wasn’t very superstitious or believed in curses. There was a bit of a creepy vibe to it, but that’s something that comes with every abandoned place I’ve ever visited. I was about to turn around when I saw someone getting out of the house, so I turned off the engine of my car and walked toward the property. I reached for my pocket and pulled out my badge. When I was at the man’s height, I couldn’t help but notice how green his eyes were. Green like grass, I don’t think I’d ever seen eyes like that. “I’m Agent Roberts. I was told this farm was abandoned.” The man spat on the ground and stared at me quietly. He sported a three days salt-and-pepper beard and he had curly hair. His cap hid most of it, but what was visible looked greasy and dusty. He also smelled like fertilizer. He told me he was one of the owners. This land was shared between a few siblings so I asked him his name and he confirmed his identity. It matched with one of the sibling’s name. I then asked him if I could walk around, but I remembered this family wasn’t too fond of the idea of federal agents walking on their lands. But, if he was there, maybe he’d be okay with it? He asked me if I had a warrant. Obviously, he wasn’t okay with it. I told him why I wanted to look, told him what I could about the disappearances but he stared at me with what I could only describe as the best pokerface ever. It even sent a chill down my spine. Usually, when someone talks about children disappearing, or seniors with Alzheimer, people tend to express a little emotion but it was like he was completely indifferent. I tried to appeal to his sympathy, by talking about how the parents were worried sick. His answer? “If you don’t have a warrant, let the grass grow.” I had no idea what he meant by that, so I simply thanked him for his time and that I would come back with a warrant. Obviously, I wouldn’t be able to get one so easily. I had no reasons to believe there was anyone on this farm, but the man’s comments unsettled me. What did he mean by let the grass grow? That I needed to let time run its course? What kind of answer is that when someone tells you people are worried about their missing family and friends? It creeped me all the way down to my bones that someone would remain so cold to others’ pain. And it made me want to explore this “abandoned orchard” even more. Maybe it was just because the guy’s attitude pissed me off, but my gut was also telling me I would find something there. I came back at sundown with my flashlight, my gun, a big knife for cutting grass, and my badge. Maybe it was because it was almost nighttime, but this place seemed a lot creepier when it wasn’t basking in the sun. Tall grass looked like tall blades dancing in the breeze, the noise of them bristling making me a little nervous. I broke past the fence at the gate and instantly felt uneasy. I blamed the fact that what I was doing was illegal, and then vanquished my guilt by telling myself I was only here to investigate. I wasn’t going to break anything. If I got caught, I would say I heard a scream and thought someone was in danger. No big deal. Swallowing thickly, I made my way to the coquettish cottage house and tried for the door. It was locked. Obviously. A shame, because it was the first place I wanted to investigate. If there was anyone hiding, or corpses, they would obviously be in the house, not in the stretch of grass in front and behind of the house. I got off the balcony and walked around the house, cutting grass to help me walk around until I found a trap leading in the basement. It was chained, but it was rusty. I looked around for something I could use to break it, and soon enough, found a shovel on the back porch. After two or three good hits, I managed to split the chain and opened the trap. I was almost disappointed when the waft that came from the underground wasn’t one of decay, but simply humidity and dust. I used my flashlight and was about to go down when I heard a loud rustling coming from the tall grass behind the house. I turned my flashlight in the direction I thought the noise came from and saw two little neon-green eyes looking at me about a foot or two in the grass. Someone was staring at me. It felt like ice rushing down the length of my spine—I was here illegally, but there was something incredibly unsettling about these eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at them and when I finally managed to gaze away, I barely had time to notice how gray their skin looked before whoever that was dashed deeper in the tall grass. I put my knife in its holster on my hip, got my gun instead and ran after him. I ran after him, without thinking about where I was going. At the distance I was, I didn’t know if it was the man I’d met earlier, or maybe someone I was looking for on the disappearance list, or something else entirely. I’d never seen eyes so green—and it was the second time I had that thought in a day. I commanded them to stop, called out “FBI, STOP!” but they kept running and running until the bristling of the grass left in their wake stopped and I lost trace of them. Where I was, the grass was about as tall as I was, and as dense as the hair on my head. I realized I had no idea where I was. I was pretty sure I ran a straight line but I didn’t really take the time to check that. If I went back, would I find my way out of these tall grass? I swallowed thickly and used my flashlight around me. The way I came from couldn’t be identified with light alone, because the grass had already retrieved its original shape and position, even the one I’d stepped on. “Shit!” I thought to myself, before remembering I had my car keys on me. I could always make my car beep and — The grass around me started to move, but I couldn’t feel a breeze. I used my flashlight and caught onto those green eyes again. But then, another pair appeared, much lower. And then another. And another until I was surrounded by creepy neon irises staring at me in the middle of tall grass. They started moving closer and now, I could see it. I could see they were human, but their eyes—their eyes had nothing human in them. They were cold, inexpressive. Amidst the different bodies, I recognized the man I’d met in the morning. He was staring at me, a couple meters behind the group walking toward me. He was smiling. “Let the grass grow.” There was a whisper rising in the grass, and the closer those people were getting, the more fearful I became. I got my gun out and asked them to stay where they were, or I’d shoot, but they didn’t listen to me. Could I shoot? Some of them, despite their grayed skin and freaky eyes, didn’t look a lick above 10 years old. I recognized some of the faces as the people who disappeared and I wondered briefly if I fell upon a cult of sort—but nothing could explain the way their eyes glowed. That’s when I felt the grass wrap around my ankles and wrists. “Let the grass grow,” the whisper turned into a chant as the circle of missing folks closed in on me. I dropped my gun as the grasp on my wrist became so tight I couldn’t hold it anymore. I felt like I was going to die, either killed by those crazy grass folks or by the grass itself, who now seemed to have a life of its own. I felt the grass cut into the skin of my wrist and panicked. I started thrashing about. Praise be that I’m a muscular man and not only for show. Using all my strength, I pulled with my right wrist and managed to tear the grass from the ground. Instinctively, I reached for my knife again and started cutting. I cut the blades of grass around my wrists first, then freed my ankles. The green-eyed folks were getting so much closer. “Let the grass grow” I turned around and ran straight into one of them. His skin was grayed out, as if he didn’t have a single drop of blood inside. When I looked down, his feet were rooted into the ground—like literal roots. From the knee down, his skin was split like tree bark and something neon green was linking him to the ground. I took a step back and saw him take a step forward. He was slow. Much slower than the man I’d met during the day. I buried my blade in his stomach, but all that came out was a black liquid that smelled like fertilizer. No expression, no pain. I felt grass tentatively rising around my ankle and looked over my shoulder to see the man still smiling behind me. I pushed past the green-eyed folk without taking my knife back. The sound of their voices chanting “let the grass grow” behind me, fueling me to run faster. Even as I got in my car and sped away, my paranoia didn’t relent. I kept looking over my shoulder, making sure one of them wasn’t hiding in my car, ready to turn me into one of those green-eyed plant-like monsters. I called office the next day and they didn’t take me seriously. However, they did send a couple of cars and managed to get a warrant. Seeing how I had cuts on my wrists and ankles, they could say an agent was attacked on the property and got their warrant. They found the bodies. All of them. They saw the green eyes. They erected a dome over the whole orchard, to figure out what happened. This ought to be one of my creepiest experiences as an FBI agent. I didn’t stay long after that. Became a cop in the town I resided in with my wife. Didn’t bother to ask questions about the “Lost Wood Orchard” farm in Utah either. 50 years later and I still can’t smell freshly cut grass without panicking. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta